Category: Life

I guess if tomorrow’s Day Zero and Friday is Day One, that makes today Day Negative One.

It took me about 4 1/2 hours to get from home to Duluth, Georgia. My jaw hurts from grinding my teeth when driving through Birmingham. Birmingham, your highways suck fairly badly.

But Atlanta – holy fucking shit. Atlantans, I ask this with love – where the FUCK are ya going in such a motherfucking HURRY at 3:30 on a weekday afternoon?! Christ Almighty, I’m not in a hurry to drive through Atlanta again. I’m hoping like hell the traffic’s not that bad on Sunday evening, ’cause the only thing worse than driving with people bumper-to-bumper riding each others’ asses on either side of me would be all that in the dark, after having spent the weekend walking 60 miles.

I have to go out and figure out where the park and ride in Alpharetta is from here, but I’m scared I’ll be immediately surrounded by scary fast-drivin’ ass-ridin’ drivers.

At least I have my handy directions written on index cards. As I told reader Fitchypoo last night, who incidentally is an Atlantan (but not one of those scary drivers I’m sure), I write each step of my driving directions on it’s own numbered index card, with the street name in bold, and "left" or "right" highlighted. I have directions from home to the hotel I’m staying in, from the hotel to the park & ride (where I’ll go to drop off the Jeep tomorrow morning and catch the shuttle to Day Zero), from the park and ride BACK to the hotel (after I check out the location tonight), and last but not least, from the park and ride home.

Incredibly anal, no? I just always like to know as much as possible about what’s going to happen before it’s actually happening. Maybe I have control freak tendencies…

Ugh. Weather.com is predicting rain for Friday and Saturday.

5:22 pm, Atlanta time. Fairfield Inn room 106, Duluth, Georgia.

You know, for an event that’s for a good cause and supposed to make me feel all happy, I’m certainly feeling mighty hate-filled and grumpy right now.

To find DeVry in Alpharetta (which is where I’ll park & ride the shuttle to Day Zero), which is 15 miles away, it took more than 1 1/2 fucking hours.

Here’s a map of where I fucked up:

You see, where GA-120 veers off to the right, it is NOT clearly marked with, oh, a big sign or anything.

THERE’S NO SHAME IN A CLEARLY MARKED ROAD, PEOPLE.

So I ended up going straight, and followed Kimball Bridge Road for some ungodly amount of time before turning around and going off to the fucking west. You see, I thought highway 120 had just kind of ENDED, and turned into Kimball Bridge Road, 3 miles before MapBlast said it was supposed to show up. Why did I end up going off to the west? I have no fucking clue. There was some stupid lame fucking reasoning in there somewhere, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what it was.

Anyway, I found the fucking place. Grrr. To be safe, I guess I’ll leave here (the hotel) an hour before the shuttle leaves DeVry.

My favorite street name of the evening: Redcoat Way.

I saw some serious fucking subdivisions, too. "Starting from $370,000", "Starting from $500,000". At one point, I ran across a "turn of the century riverfront community" with prices ranging from $700,000 to $2,000,000, and I almost swallowed my teeth.

Judging from the houses and the cars I saw in Alpharetta, I’m in the central point of Yuppie Hell.

9:08 pm, Atlanta time. —–

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Lordy, how the hell did it get to be October already? The spud will be 13 on the 26th, and I have no idea what to get her. I mean, I know she’ll be more than happy to make me a long, long list and everything, but nothing comes to my mind at the moment.

Remember my list of resolutions back in January? And how one of them was to have my eyebrows and upper lip waxed? Well, I went and had that done today, and can I just say OUCH!? The actual waxing didn’t hurt, but once the waxing was over, the woman came at my eyebrows with a tweezer and since the only parts of my eyebrows that have seen a tweezer are the center, in order to prevent the lovely unibrow look, the skin under my eyebrows is tender and untouched. Once I left the spa (I had it done at a day spa, so very pampered wife of me, yes?), I came home and washed the soothing oil from my face and checked it out. Lordy, was I red and inflamed where she’d waxed the hair off. It hurt a lot, but as the day went on it stopped hurting as much, and now I’m not even terribly red or inflamed.

Heh. Checking out those resolutions, it appears that I’ve accomplished NONE of them aside from the waxing one. I really thought I was going to get off my ass and move Bitchypoo over to robynanderson.com? Ah, so naive I can be sometimes…

We watched Blow this weekend, and it was the oddest thing. For the first half of the movie Johnny Depp played George Jung, and then suddenly Fred looked up and said "When did Christopher Walken take over the role?" It was incredible. One second, Johnny Depp, the next, Christopher Walken. The movie wasn’t bad, though Penelope Cruz is a point of contention between Fred and I. I think she’s beautiful (which doesn’t mean I’m a big fan or anything – I don’t really like her much), and Fred thinks she’s the most hideous, ugliest, vomit-inducing creature on the face of the earth. It’s funny how two people can look at the same thing and see it differently, isn’t it?

Speaking of Penelope Cruz, Fred and I had a discussion, right after he went on at length about her hideousness.

"I can’t believe Tom Cruise is dating her!" he said.

Do y’all think there’s really a relationship there? It seems both way too soon, and way too in-your-face to be anything more than a publicity thing. I think that it’s entirely possible that whatever reason caused Tom to file for divorce is something that pissed him off so that he wants to hurt Nicole very badly. The whole Penelope Cruz thing doesn’t really match the semi-private way Tom Cruise has lead his life for as long as I can remember.

And the whole Cruz/ Cruise thing is just gag-worthy.

We watched Alias last night, and I liked it a lot. And after watching the whole show, what did I get picky about? Not the part where she successfully broke into the whatever-it-was embassy (was it an embassy?) and stole whatever the hell it was, kicking the shit out of scads of men. No, apparently I felt that entirely believable. No, I took issue when she walked into the CIA.

"How did she know who to ask for?" I demanded of Fred. "And how did she know to say to tell him it was a walk-in?" Fred came up with explanations – "Maybe, since she thought she was working for the CIA, she knew some of the procedures." But that’s just flimsy. I don’t buy it. I also don’t buy that she’d fly back to the states from Taipei with dried blood on her chin, without wiping it off at some point.

I liked the show a lot, though, and I think it’ll make a good addition to my regular lineup.

I spent a good part of the day – when not cleaning or having my face waxed – obsessing over what I need to pack for the 3Day, and worrying about the fact that I’m having a hard time fitting everything I need in my fanny pack. I’m also worrying about the fact that my duffle bag is so damn big. I packed most of the clothes I’ll be bringing into the bag, and there’s plenty of room for a pillow or two, which is a relief. I need pillows to sleep decently, and I was worried that I wouldn’t have room or weight to spare (there’s a 35-pound weight limit), but at this point with only some shoes and a sweater to pack, I have 17 pounds to spare. Sweet!

Okay, I’m off to read over my 3Day booklet to be sure I’m not forgetting something, and obsess some more. Y’all have a good one!

 

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So, I had to get groceries this week, ’cause Fred’s doing end-of-year something-or-other at work, and he begged and pleaded (or just asked) me to get groceries, so after insisting on a few sexual favors in return, I agreed to get groceries.

Isn’t it just TYPICAL that after a hard week of sitting on my ass, I have to go get groceries as well?! I swear, my work is NEVER done.

It was odd wandering through the grocery store at 8 in the morning getting a full load of groceries, since I haven’t done it for well over a year. If you’ll recall (if I ever mentioned it, which I’m not sure I did), the reason Fred started getting groceries is because I was spending too much money and doing too much impulse shopping. I’m thrilled to say that except for a few magazines and some film (which I need for my camera for the 3Day, since I don’t quite dare to bring the digital cam and Fred won’t buy me my (this week’s) heart’s desire, the bastard). Being so early, there was only one checkout line open, and two or three people ahead of me. I guess I’m not the only one who wants to get the damn grocery shopping done and over with so they can get on with their busy day of ass-sitting.

As I approached the checkout line, sitting at the end of the line was an abandoned-looking half-full cart with no one standing near it. I looked around, wondering whether I should cut in front of it, or if someone was grabbing a forgotten item and would be back. I stood there looking clueless for a few minutes, and then a woman came running over from the customer service desk, hauling two cartons of cigarettes.

"Sorry!" she chirped, and then started unloading her cart. I smiled, just relieved that I hadn’t cut in front of her. After she unloaded her groceries, she started to make perky conversation with the cashier, and then stopped abruptly to cough up a lung on the conveyer belt. Good thing she was buying those cigarettes, eh?

Man, I’ve been productive this morning. Not only did I put all the groceries away (by MYSELF! The horror!), but I FINALLY helped the spud hang all her pictures and posters up in her room (yes, we HAVE lived here two months now, shaddup). Most of her stuff fit on one wall, except for a few posters which went over her bed. It looks a tad homier in there, now.

I also cleared all the crap out from underneath my keyboard. And took a picture of it all!:

What have we here? Why, a note to myself about the 3Day Day Zero shuttle, a bunch of tracker thingies for packages I’ve mailed, my brand-spankin’-new Costco card (I still haven’t been to Costco, but I have the membership card, Moira!), and my credit card (number conveniently blurred out for you criminal types). And to top it off, a nice little pile of cat hair and dust. Yum!

Oh, I also found this:

A brown peanut M&M. God knows how long it’s been under there – months, probably. Did I dust it off and eat it? You bet your bippies I did. And it was mighty fucking fine.

The problem is that I have no idea how many calories are in a single peanut M&M. I’ll count it as 10; that sounds fair enough.

1. Laying on your back and facing the ceiling, which side of the bed do you sleep on? The left. When Fred and I are laying in bed talking before he goes off to his own room NO LATER THAN 9:41, I lay on the right-hand side. When he goes to his own bed, I walk around to the left side. I sleep better on that side of the bed for some reason. Possibly because I usually sleep on my left side, and have the entire bed to stretch my arm across or something.

2. Do you have to have covers (blankets and/or sheets) at all costs, no matter the weather? Yes, ’cause we have air conditioning, and it’s always around 68 degrees during the night, so a sheet and comforter are required lest I surely freeze to death.

3. Sleep nekkid or no? Why? Butt-ass nekkid is the only way to sleep. I can’t sleep well with a nightgown on, ’cause it gets all twisted under me, and I don’t care for a t-shirt and shorts, either. Which means it’ll be a ton of fun during the 3Day, ’cause of course I’d never subject a stranger to Nekkid Bitchypoo. But then, I’ll be in a sleeping bag on the ground, with a complete stranger as my tentmate, so I’m not expecting to sleep well, at least not the first night.

4. What’s under your bed? Cat hair, and usually a cat or two. And 64,780 ear plugs that I’ve lost in the middle of the night, or the cats have knocked off the bedside table to play with.

5. If you have pets, do you let them sleep with you? Why or why not? Yep, I usually have at least two cats (Miz Poo and Spanky) on the bed with me during the night. Tubby will occasionally sneak up for a snooze some nights. Spot will, once in a blue moon, stand at the edge of the bed and stare at me for a while before curling up. I have no idea where Fancypants spends his nights, though. Why? Because I love my kitties, and if I shut them out of the room Miz Poo would be heartbroken. And Spanky would sit outside the door and howl like a fool all night long.

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Tonight’s the season premiere of Friends, woohoo! Y’all can just shut up with your "IIIIIII don’t watch Friends anymore, ’cause it just sucks so badly." It does not suck so badly, it’s wonderful and I love it, so just bite me.

Speaking of TV shows, can I just say that I really really really love Red Foreman? And Hyde? Fred likes Kelso, and I suspect that’s because he RELATES to Kelso. Oh, and we decided the other night that Donna looks much better with bangs. (We’re talking about That ’70s Show. Try to keep up, won’t you?)

Love Cruise premiered Tuesday, and there was another episode last night. I had to tape last night’s episode ’cause it was the same time as The Amazing Race, and both Race and Love Cruise just rocked. Why do I love reality shows so much? I don’t know, but I do know that when Survivor 3 premieres in October, I’ll be in hog heaven.

Lordy, this time next week I’ll be standing in line at Day Zero. And this time tomorrow I’ll be saying "Just think, this time next week I’ll be walking 20 miles!" And this time Saturday… Well, you get the point.

I still haven’t unrolled my brand-spankin’-new sleeping bag to test it out, nor have I tested out the blow-up (self-inflating!) sleeping mattress either. Living on the edge, that’s me. No doubt I’ll never get around to it, and on the first night of the 3Day, I’ll discover that I accidentally bought a kids’ sleeping bag that only comes up to about my waist, and that the air mattress doesn’t work.

Oh, remember when I introduced the word "dilemmanated" to y’all? If not, go back and read the entry. Anyway, that commercial came on the other night while we were watching TV, and I scared the bejesus out of all the cats by jumping up and running full-tilt to the computer room to grab the camera and then run back to the living room (the cats were all milling around with their backs arched and their tails puffy) to snap the picture of the kid as he stood there looking all dilemmanated:

Now tell the truth. Does that kid’s face just scream "dilemmanated", or what?

And because I don’t think y’all have seen enough cat pictures this month, here’s one for you:

This is what happens when we have shrimp for dinner. I was standing at the sink de-tailing raw shrimp, no cats in sight, when suddenly a herd of them ran into the kitchen and sat around looking as if they were starving to death. I have no idea why Miz Poo comes running when I’m peeling shrimp, ’cause she won’t eat any kind of human food. Cat food is the only thing she eats – aside from the occasional bug and grass – which is probably a good thing, ’cause otherwise she’d be even portlier than she currently is. Tubby and Spanky each got a small piece of shrimp. (Side note: every time I link to the cats’ pages, I have to sit and try to remember their real names, ’cause I’m a doofus like that)

Tubby snarfed his in half a second and started whining for more. Spanky hunkered over his piece and licked it, then chewed a little, then licked some more, all the while growling at invisible things. It takes him ten minutes to eat a teeny piece of shrimp, and usually about halfway through it, he grabs what’s left and runs away from whomever might be thinking of taking it away from him, growling all the while.

He’s such a freak. Just like his momma.

 

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The Crime:

Muddy footprints on the mattress cover!

The Accused:

One Spot J. Anderson, aka "Buhhhhddy!"

The Reaction:


Horror, sadness, and shockingly bad hair.

The Verdict:
Guilty, guilty, guilty as sin!

The Punishment:

Dirty looks and muttered "You little
bastard!"s from The Momma.
And being forced to look at more bad hairstyles.

 

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Okay, I have an embarrassing confession (aside from the confession that I had to pop over to Merriam- Webster to make sure I spelled "embarrassing" correctly, which I had). Ready? Here goes:

I love the song "God Bless the USA." LOVE. IT. Every every EVERY time I hear it, it makes me all teary-eyed. And if they have dialogue in the instrumental parts? Kill me, ’cause it’s all over. I will burst into tears at the speed of light.

If you feel you must stop reading and unsubscribe from the notify list, I completely understand. And bite me. 🙂

So, after my shower this morn (just so you can adjust your Bitchypoo daily timeline if need be) I sat on the bed and turned the TV on (a rare thing – usually the TV doesn’t come on until 12:30, when I sometimes watch The Bold and the Beautiful (shut up), and then only for half an hour). I flipped by MTV and was amazed and enthralled that they were showing a video. I didn’t think they did that anymore!

Anyway, apparently a bunch of artists got together and recorded Marvin Gaye’s "What’s Going On" to benefit Aids research. Then September 11th happened, and they said "Oh, let’s have some of the money going to the September 11th fund, too!", and THEN Brittney Spears said "What about dogs and cats? Shouldn’t we benefit them too?", and they said "Oh yeah, let’s benefit the ASPCA while we’re at it", and then Michael Stipe threw a temper tantrum and reminded everyone that the "Freaky Bald Musicians Fund" was a respectable charity, and so they said "Oh, okay, we’ll send money there too!", and then P. Diddy put his foot down and said "What about the Musicians Who’ve Dated J.Lo? That’s a valid charity! ‘Cause once you see that ass nekkid, you’re ruined for other asses!", and then Fred Durst and the Backstreet Boys got into a slap fight, and it just degenerated into a big melee.

That’s a big lie, and that’s not even where I was going with that. What did I mean to say? Oh yeah, they showed the video, so I watched it, and while it wasn’t bad, there was too much background noise. I mean, if someone’s singing, let them sing and don’t be do-wopping and chattering in the background, ’cause it’s a messy sound and I don’t like it.

Oh wait, upon actually READING the site, I find that they cut five different versions of the song. Maybe that was the rap/ do-wop version. As you were.

Go check out the picture at the top of Say’s journal entry. The look on that kid’s face just cracks me up.

And while I’m sharing links, go read Kathy’s entry for today, specifically the italicized part that starts about halfway down.

Damn, it was cold out this morning. Fred had to actually turn the heat on when he got back from exercising. Even now, in the afternoon, I think it’s not much warmer than 55 outside. What sucks is that I got rid of all my long-sleeved shirts from last year, since they were too big, and so now all I really have are t-shirts. Luckily, I have a sweater from Land’s End to keep me warm.

I watched Someone Like You last weekend, and I have to say I really REALLY liked Ashley Judd’s hair. You thought I was going to say I really liked the movie, didn’t you? No, the movie was okay – I mean, Hugh Jackman! BAYbee! – but I was distracted by Ashley Judd’s strong resemblance to Toni Collette.

Anyway, I really REALLY liked her hair (oh, did I mention that?), and I’m thinking of going that way with my hair once I’ve come close to my goal weight (and the way things are going, that should be sometime in 3078). Fred will whine and moan ’cause he prefers long hair, but it ain’t his head, is it? No, it’s not. And he always bitches about the long hairs all over the place and the occasional long hair in his food, so this should help.

Maybe I should just shave my head.

Did y’all see The Practice Sunday night? That was a sweet little twist at the end. Amazingly enough, I didn’t see it coming. And the guy who played the Senator looked an awful lot like Gary Condit, Fred pointed out repeatedly.

Speaking of television shows, I taped Crossing Jordan last night, and I think I’ll go watch it before the spud gets home. I’m kinda iffy on Jill Hennessy, but the previews looked pretty good, so I think I’ll give it a chance.

Now All we are sayyyyyying is give Jill a chance… is going through my head, damnit.

 

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Bed, Bath and Beyond, which recently opened nearby. Although Fred had suggested I just go to Wal-Mart and buy a cheap comforter there, since no doubt the cats will crappify whatever I buy in ten seconds flat, I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to get something NICE, something NOT in cranberry and dark green, and something that *I* liked. After all, he’s got the colors he likes in HIS room, why shouldn’t I have the colors I like in MY room?, I thought to myself. Once inside B,B & B, I wandered about, looking at comforters. I looked and I looked, and I looked some more. I found some Laura Ashley comforters I liked, but didn’t care for the price – $300 for JUST the comforter? Damn! I found some Wamsutta comforters I liked, but still wasn’t crazy about the price. Finally, I said to myself, Just suck it up. You knew this was going to be expensive. Find one you like and buy it, damn it! So I did find one I liked. It was a bed in a bag set, and I found the King size version of it, and I turned the bag over, looking for the price. $59.99. Hell, yeah. And it’s made of the smooth cotton blend material that will let me vacuum up the cat hair. And there’s matching sheets, and best of all, it’s not red or green. It’s blue: You’ll note that 4 of the 5 cats are snoozin’ on the bed. If you look closely, you’ll see Spanky laying between the pillows. Damn cats. I’m not sure what it says about me that I bypassed the $300+ comforter/ bed sets for the cheap one, but I’ll tell you – both Fred and our checking account were the happier for it. I don’t like soft sheets. Those t-shirt sheets? Can’t stand ’em. I have to have a nice smooth, crisp sheet, with as few wrinkles as possible, to sleep well. Silk sheets? I think not. Any sheet above a 200 thread-count is too soft for me, and makes me sweat. Maybe, coming from a long line of peasants, I have low-class tastes. But what can I say? I like what I like what I like. You look like you’re dying for more cat pictures… Spot, on the outside looking in. No doubt thinking “How the hell do I get back in there, again?”, having forgotten that he needs to, y’know, go through the open door which is about ten feet behind him. Miz Poo, in the midst of her daily sun therapy. And bathing. Gotta keep those paws clean. Tubby makes like a kitty loaf in the middle of the library floor. He just got done sniffing at Spot through the window, and is contemplating taking a nap. It’s all too much for him…]]>

Wish you Were Here when Fred Durst and the Goo Goo Dolls guy (and whoever else was out there) sang it. I was shocked. SHOCKED, I tell you. I thought everyone knew that song. I stared at him in surprise and then said “That’s Pink Floyd! I can’t believe you don’t know that song. I think it was on the same album as Mother.” He didn’t know Mother, either. What kind of planet has the man been living on? “The only Pink Floyd song I know is the we don’t need no education one,” he said. So I killed him and buried his body in the back corner of the yard. Next spring I’ll plant a lilac bush there, and it will be the best-fertilized lilac bush you’ve ever seen. At the end of the telethon when the whole crowd of ’em sang together (and lordy, what planet was Goldie Hawn on? Did she look high as a kite, or what?), before they zoomed in so that you could see who was leading the sing-along, I thought to myself, “Good god in heaven, is that MARILYN MANSON there in front of the microphone, going to lead Hollywood in a sing-along?” It was Willie Nelson. A common mistake, I’m sure. I LOATHE it when Mariah does that shrieky squealy shit like she was doing toward the end of the song. GRRRR. Like I told Fred, I LIKE her voice, until she busts out with the shrieks, and then I want her dead. Enrique Iglesias (son o’ Julio!) is pretty cute, isn’t he? They’ve been playing that song all over the radio stations ’round here, often with WTC-related dialogue in the instrumental parts. Of course, I didn’t know who he was until I asked the spud. “That’s Enrique,” she said with supreme confidence, after taking a moment to roll her eyes heavenward and wonder Why did you have to saddle me with such old, uncool, unhip, know-nothing parents, god? Why oh why? You know you’re getting old when you have to ask a 12 year-old girl who’s on the TV.]]>

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want to be a good recycler, but ignorance is holding me back, y’all! Heh. Typing “ignorance” made me think of Ace and TJ. TJ says “ignernt”, and it always cracks me up. I love me some Ace and TJ. Oh man. I just read Nance’s entry for the other day (I’m behind in my journal-reading as well as my emailing, you got a problem with that?), and read about her falling. On the driveway. In full view of the school bus. Poor Nance! That reminds me of about seven or eight years ago (god in heaven I’m old) when the spud and I were living in a duplex with Deb and Brian. (The ex was stationed in South Carolina, and when we heard that it would take forever to get into base housing, we (I) decided that it’d be best for the spud and I to move to Maine, especially since the ex would be going out to sea all the time. Anyway. One day I was home alone – where were the kids and Deb? I have no idea – doing laundry. Out back, we had a clothesline, which my father had come over and hung up for us. It was one of the ones that was strung between the house and a pole in the back yard, and you’d hang up a piece of laundry and push it out, then hang up another, and push it out further, until the line was full. So to hang out the laundry, you’d stand on the top step of the back porch. This day, I was minding my own business, hanging up laundry like a fiend, when I leaned over just a TAD too far. And fell end-over-end down the steps. Damn it hurt like hell. But was my first concern whether I’d broken anything? No, of course not. The first thing I did was look around to see if the teenagers from next door who were always outside smoking were around. Thank god, they weren’t. Looking back, I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck or give myself brain damage – I weighed a good 85 pounds more than I do now – but it wasn’t witnessed by anyone else, and that’s all that mattered, y’know.]]>